Once Upon A Cloud
by DeathCaller13
Summary: The Sarachoo were a species of Unicorn, able to shapeshift into more familar human shapes and revert back. The Crimps, dark dragons, have a Feast upon the Sarachoo every 5000 years. Now that the Savior is left alone, can she bring her people back?
1. Chapter 1

**_This is my own book that I've been working on for 7 and a half years. I own all characters, names, places, poetry, and plot. Any reproduction of these things without my permission will be considered theft. Please do not use them against my acception. All you have to do is ask me and tell me the reason you want to use anything from my book. If it's an acceptable reason, I'll allow. So please, don't be a douche. Thank you and enjoy the first chapter!_

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Chapter 1

_As I fall in space_

_I feel as if I have no purpose._

_I see through everything in front of me,_

_Yet I only see darkness._

It was a world of myth. It was a world of old and new. It was - after all - a world of vast imagination. And it _is_ a world that holds the secret of hope. Creatures only known to roam our minds are now free to take the forms of humans, leaving only small traces to give us hints of their true physical selves. Good and evil collide once again, but the outcome can only be understood if one knows the whole tale.

"Honesah!" A young male Sarachoo trotted toward a female. His green mane flowed about in its medium length, mimicking that of his same-colored tail. "It has been many a day since I have seen the Princess," he bowed his head in a quick and formal gesture. The two Cotlies - Sarachoo from birth to the age of twelve - were both only eight and nine years old.

Sarachoo were a rare and spiritual species. In simple terms, they would resemble a flying Unicorn. Their fur was the only element that remained white while the mane, tail, eyes, hooves, et cetera were naturally many different colors and designs. As humans, their ears and tails remained, horns now replaced by a simple diamond-shaped crystal on their foreheads. Wings were able to appear and disappear at will in this form. Existing in a single large village, deep within a vast forest, it was difficult to find them unless by accident.

It had snowed heavily the night before, the ground blanketed by its icy white shield; the sun, however, sooted the chill for the plants and animals.

Honesah, the younger of te two, sighed and shook her head, "I've told you before, Allo: there is no need to be formal around me. I don't mind being treated like everyone else." Her soft pink eyes clashed against her gold and sapphire striped mane and tail as she tried to engrave her words into her friend's mind.

Choosing not to listen, Allo changed the subject. He didn't believe in putting a social ranking to waste. "I was helping my mother with her garden and noticed you walking by. If you are not busy, would you like to join us? We could catch up on our friendship." Secretly, he cared for Honesah as more than just a friend, but he didn't want to let it out just yet. Both of them were far too young to be making Partnerships - committed relationships - just yet.

A smile curled on the female's muzzle, "I am not busy at all. In fact, I was looking for you, but I must have lost you in all the green." She enjoyed teasing Allo about his colors, it always reminded her about how they had first met.

It was back not long ago, when the two were four years younger, on a winter's day. The ground was deeply covered in snow, and Cotlies as young as Allo and Honesah were not quite tall enough to get around easily.

Honesah leaped from her holes, making new ones as she sank into the snow each time. It was her only means of getting around, but she did have fun, and her older brother, Freero - who was the age of twelve at the time - watched over her as he stepped through the snow with just a bit of trouble. Freero was a protective brother, but didn't immediately shoo away every newcomer. They played near the frozen lake, a common ground for most of the young Sarachoo. At one point, Honesah noticed two small patches of grass and decided to jump onto them for her own silly reasons. She landed, but didn't sink, only hearing an "Oof!" sounding from underneath. Scrambling off the strange grass, the young Princess proclaimed, "It talks!"

Freero, however, was much wiser and noticed the small yellow horn poking from its white confinement. "That isn't grass, Honesah," he laughed and walked over to nudge a small Cotly from the snow. He rolled up, over, and sank back down, his head poking up as he looked around. "How long have you been here?" Freero asked the new Cotly.

"Most of the morning. Is it mid-day yet?" His innocent voice responded.

Shaking his head, Freero smiled, "Almost. Give it an hour or two."

"Good. I don't want to miss lunch!"

Honesah had gradually crawled closer, nearly swimming as she snuck up on the equally young Sarachoo. She was a hair away from leaping onto him, only to collapse from a deeper area in the snow.

"My name is Allo," the Cotly turned at the sound of Honesah's crunch of snow and squeak of surprise. "What is your's?" He strained his horse-like neck to peek into the female's pit.

"Honesah!" came a muffled voice.

"And I am Freero," the brother lifted his sister with his mouth by the scruff of her neck. "It is a good thing we came here. You seemed stuck."

Allo shook his head in an effort to knock the snow from his mane, "My mother usually finds me by mid-day. She knows I hate to miss lunch."

Wriggling and squirming to get free of her brother's hold, Honesah asked, "Can he be my new friend, Freero? Please?" She soon gave up her struggle and sighed.

The lavender Cotly answered, purposely doing so to drop his sister, "I guess so."

Honesah bounced up from her new hold in the snow with glee, only able to raise her head above the cold blanket. "Yay! That makes two!" She remembered the successful event, keeping it dear.

Allo only laughed at his friend's joke, accepting it like words of endearment. "I have much to tell you." He turned, heading back to his small hay and log built home, Honesah following close behind.

The dim atmosphere of the hold Keep was disturbed by two beings - Sarachoo, in their Human forms. The eldest one had a broad face, his long, light-blue hair reached about mid-back; his tail was the same color. The younger male, old enough to be in the Marcroo range of age - twenty-two to death - was built a little less strongly, his hair reaching to his shoulders and pulled back in a band to match his sunset orange tail.

"This weather has been far too calm," stated the first male. "Not a cloud in sight for days."

"Maybe it is just a simple period of bright skies," countered the younger Sarachoo. He didn't want to believe what his King was suggesting.

Bremeg, the light-blue male, was indeed King of Sarachoo. As King, he was to protect his people at all costs. In Bremeg's past, he was highly intrigued by legends and the village's history. The Crimp Legend was one that he respect most.

_Five-thousand upon the time_

_Clouds show their anger by darkness_

_And not what of routine._

_One cry to bleed and shake,_

_Two cries to weaken and break,_

_Three cries and the fire is black._

_Feasting upon the bodies_

_They do not turn back._

_One that survives,_

_Choosing to forget,_

_Or instead, will save._

_Turning into tears, _

_Salty rain shall restore the life_

_As it was before that day._

He could recite it without a stutter, and knew that the time drew near. Those evil draconic

beasts would return for their long awaited feast. Bremeg wanted to end this once and for all. He wanted to do it without chaos, though, and the King knew such a goal would prove challenging. Searching the many shelves that walled and filled the large Keep, Bremeg picked off a specific old book. Dust has collected on many of them, and he simply brushed it of with his hand. There was not title, but he knew exactly what it was - records of each Feast, written by the Savior, who was the Sarachoo to escape before being devoured. Once the Savior restored the village, he or she would make their own input of what happened before, during, and after the Feast; this would give the Sarachoo information on any changes in the patterns of which the Crimps would perform their Feast.

"Unless this is a drought, I seriously doubt your suggestion. Besides," Bremeg flipped to a page near the beginning of the book and pointed to a date, "twenty, thirty-seven. That was the last Feast. The year is now twenty-five, thirty-six. In three more days, it will be the new year."

The orange Sarachoo cracked open and then closed his mouth a couple of time, trying to say something that would prove his King wrong. He didn't, of course. Out of all the Feasts recorded - four, to be exact - not one of them failed to take place on the night of the new year, every five-thousand years. "Can we not find shelter until the Crimps give up?"

"It has been tried before," Bremeg closed the book and replaced it in its original spot. "None have been successful. The Crimps can smell our blood no matter how well we hide."

Sighing in defeat, the younger Marcroo looked to the rickety door leading back to the village. "So our fate has been sealed, and there is no way to fight back."

"No," Bremeg smirked at the sight of his bodyguard's face. He wasn't necessary, but it was a precaution for lead royalty to have bodyguards. "We will fight, just as our ancestors. We merely have to plan it all out. Devise a way to surprise the Crimps and attack them off guard."

"Sire, you _know_ how titanic those beasts are. How can we stand up to hundreds of them?" He was right. Crimps stood up to two pine trees tall. The Lord of Crimps, currently known as Cyfro, stood four pines. Their whip-like tails were as long as their bodies, and their quick reflexes weren't an advantage to the Sarachoo. If anything, it would take fifty or more Sarachoo to each Crimp for a fighting chance - that was only a chance, though.

Pausing in thought, the King stared to the door, processing every bit of information about the black dragons that he held in his mind. With a gentle smile, Bremeg rested a sturdy large hand on the shoulder of his comrade, "We just have to try, fail or avail."

The orange Marcroo twitched his white horse ears that proudly poked from near the top sides of his head. He felt reassured, trusting his Ruler thoroughly, "What is your plan, Sire? I shall follow you to my death and beyond."

Deep in the southern regions of the Earth, there was a rejected mountain range known as Farroon Marock - Shadowed Desert - covered in darkness an flourished with mostly death. There was, however, a certain species that thrived in such a harsh land - the Crimps. Enormous caverns filled the dry mountains, mazing about within them as the tunnels made their way deep into the planet as a center belly. Within this chamber, the entire population of the Crimps met, noisily screeching and nipping at each other, uncomfortable with being so cramped together. A tall and unnaturally large formation of rock stood near the front of the chamber. On it stood Cyfro, Lord of Crimps, his white thin hairs that grew from the back of his head and his solid white eyes signified his ranking amongst the others, no doubt, he was much larger in stature as well.

"Silence!" Cyfro's powerful voice shook the walls, a few crumbles of rock falling and hitting the black reptiles below. Communicating to all with telepathy, not wanting to risk slicing their tongues by their own unbelievably sharp teeth, Crimps produced powerful intellect over the thousands of years the species had reigned. Everything was quiet at the sound of their leader's voice, and Cyfro began his speech, "It has been nearly five-thousand years since the last Feast. Scouts have returned with wonderful news of plentiful amounts of Sarachoo for us! In merely three days, our bellies will be full with the most delicious creatures alive!"

Screeching and roaring filled the cavern room as the hundreds of Crimps grew excited. For five-thousand years, their kind would only snack on cattle and livestock, making sure their bellies would be very well empty for the Feast. Each Crimp could live for roughly six-thousand years, so such an event was a once-in-a-lifetime treasure. Their winged arms pulsated with the major veins going through the flaps as they flared about, climbing the rocky walls and ceiling. Cyfro only curled his scaley lips in a twisted smirk. He was a proud Crimp - such luxuries. He crawled along the wall, crushing it with each step, as he tried to escape the chaos. Down the tunnels and out of the mountain, Cyfro spread his enormous winged arms and swooped upward to reach the top of his home. He landed, sitting at the very tip, his claws gripping tightly and his long tail wrapped around his perch. There were many other holes from where his claws had dug into the rocks as he returned to this spot to ponder. Cyfro stared toward the large full moon in front of him, _What will the Sarachoo try this time, I wonder..._

The shadows of night slowly began to cast themselves over the Sarachoo Village. Dusk was growing into night. Cotlies and Contles - Sarachoo from ages 13 to 21 - entered their makeshift log and grassy homes for shelter and sleep. Allo and Honesah had finished helping the male's mother in the garden, uncovering and tending to the plants that were burried underneath the thick snow. Both retreated to their homes for the night, eager to start a new day.

Freero, now a Contle, sat in his room, reading a small book that seemed aged and worn. A rapping sounded on his closed door, and he quickly closed the book, placing it in an open drawer at the side of the small desk he sat in. "Come in."

It was Honesah. She had some to tell Freero that dinner was ready and he should come downstairs to join their parents. The green Contle smiled softly to his younger sister and assured her that he would be down soon. Honesah's soft pink eyes glimmered brightly and she closed the door, heading back downstairs to tell her parents that Freero would be there. Staring hard at the drawer he had placed the book in, Freero began to ponder his future actions. Just who is the Savior? When should he or she leave the village? He wasn't sure, but he would soon have to make a choice.

Freero stood from his seat and began to make his way downstairs; he could hear his mother, father, and sister conversing with one another as Honesah told her story of her playtime with Allo. Once Freero reached the fairly sized dining room, everyone grew silent - they could sense a worried aura on the Contle, but Bremeg knew exactly what was on his mind. The green Sarachoo looked around the fairly sized room; it was just enough to sit and eat and walked around a bit, the table was a six-seater, and the off-white walls held a nice touch to the redish brown oval table the family dined on. A painting was on each of the four walls, and the other doorway opposite of Freero lead straight into the kitchen. Tonight, there was a mixture of steamed and seasoned vegatables, along with a roast - consisting of a rather large meaty insect that resembled a rhinosarus beetle. It's browned form gave off a delicious scent that made Freero water in the mouth. He then took his seat, sitting opposite of his father, and fixed his plate.

"The snow has not thinned out today," Honesah broke the silence, "If it snows again tonight, will we be snowed in?"

Her mother, Crooton, chuckled lightly and answered, "It all depends on how hard it snows, dear. Eat your dinner."

"But I don't like Beglons, they remind me of the small beetles," Honesah stared into her mother's lavendar eyes, hoping that her pouting would get her out of eating the roasted creature. She then looked over her mother's form, studying her golden hair, her pale-pink crystal that took place of her horn, and her silvery lips. She then looked to her father, doing the same with his sapphire blue hair, his purple crystal, and his orange eyes, hoping that maybe he would take up for the Cotly.

"Eat it," Bremeg and Crooton answered in unison, then flashed a smirk, finding humor in the situation.

Honesah didn't bother arguing, knowing that when both of her parents were against her, the attempt was futile. She took a glance at Freero, seeing him hungrily devour the portion of roasted Beglon that he had on his plate, and cringed at the wonder of how or even _why_ he liked such a detestful food. Staring at her plate, the sapphire and gold Cotly furrowed her brows at the much smaller portion of the roast - only four bites, four agonizing bites.

She aimed her fork, hand trembling, and gulped. Then, her hand shot downward, and with one foul swoop, the first piece was shooved into her mouth. Honesah quickly chewed, twisting her face so that everyone could see just how much she hated its taste. No one bothered to care, though the Cotly swore she heard her brother chuckle just faintly while gorging himself with the food. Finally, Honesah gulped it down and stared at the other three pieces; she wondered why her parents were so cruel as to make her eat what she didn't like.

Soon after dinner, Bremeg took Freero outside to the lake. They sat on the frozen bank, not minding the cold, and stared at the icey layer that covered the once lively lake.

"Have you decided?" Bremeg continued to take interest in the random designs of cracks within the ice. He didn't receive an answer as soon as he had hoped, which worried him. "I know this is a hard decision to make, and I understand that you are still quite young." Still Freero said nothing. "If you make your decision at the last moment, that is fine. I had only hoped for one tonight to assure myself and be ready for the worst."

"Make sure Honesah escapes," Freero stated.

For a few moments, Bremeg didn't answer; he soon did, however, knowing what to say. "I want both of you to escape, in the least. So, you sense it, too - the Savior." He smirked a bit and shook his head, "For some reason I had expected _you _to be the Savior."

"I will go," Freero inputted, "I will protect Honesah from a distance. She will need to learn to fight for herself."

Bremeg nodded once, never locking eyes with his son, his only son, the Prince and hier to the Sarachoo throne. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and snatched Freero into an embrace. "Do not die. Take my place in the throne once your sister revives the village. It will be my time to retire by then." He knew his plan of attack against the Crimps would end in disaster - there was no possible way of victory. Bremeg didn't want to admit defeat to his son, though. Just the thought of being unable to hold his symbol as a hero clutched his heart with an icey hand far colder than the lake in front of them.

It was then that Freero knew just how serious the Feast was. "Father," he tightly returned the embrace, "I will not let you down."

Only two days until the Feast.

Bremeg was up to something - a project that seemed futile. Many Sarachoo were digging deep trenches wherever they could fit them within the village; trees were cut down and split in half, then sharpened at one end. The trees were not enormous, variously the height of their homes. Ropes and switches, springs and pulleys were set up around the village in a secretive manner, not wanting the Crimps to see a trap. The giant spears were buried in the trenches, along with the springs required for the devices to work. All trace of any traps were carefully hidden and returned to the natural state of non-disturbance as closely as before. Bremeg grinned as he oversaw his plan finishing up within the late afternoon. This Feast was going to be the ultimate Feast, and it included a _lot _of wood.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Sorry I took so long to upload this, but here it is! :3 Enjoy!_**

**_Everything in here belongs to me! Please don't steal!_**

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Chapter 2

_I fall in a bottomless space,_

_That has no end._

_I dream of my future_

_And see darkness within._

Morning came faster than expected, waking each Sarachoo from its slumber. They gathered, in Human Form, within the middle of their village and waited for his majesty to confront them with tonight's plan of action.

A rush of silence overcame the gathering as Bremeg made his appearance in Human Form and stepped upon the stump he and the previous Kings had used over the centuries. He looked proud, ready, assured that his plan would work – but with a price. "Many of you will die," Bremeg didn't want to sugar-coat the truth. "Many of you will be injured," he began with the bad news to make sure their spirits would be raised in the end, "And only one of you will become the Savior." The blue Marcroo looked over his people, seeing the worry in their eyes, flooding their faces. "For many a millennia, we have watched our species be eaten and nearly become extinct. Fate has blessed us with the glory of the Savior." Bremeg looked behind himself to smile at his wife – his Queen, his son – his heir, and his daughter. He turned back to continue his speech, lightening the mood, "But tonight, our lives will be saved by ourselves; it is time to allow the Savior to rest forever – to create a stable peace within our land. No more shall we die off to please a far more devilish species; no more shall we fear time; no more shall we cringe at every dark cloud. Tonight, we gain our right to live!" Bremeg thrusted a fist into the air, cuing the Sarachoo to cheer and throw their fists up as well. It was a sight to remember; a sight to make one's heart flutter with hope; a sight that deceived all.

By noon, the Sarachoo gathered for their own feast; they danced and cheered, drank water and ate Beglons, hay, carrots, and other forms of large insects that resembled grubs. Games were included – simple mathematical games. One in particular was a gambling game with wooden dice, sweets, and twigs. It was simple, yet fun: there were three dice – one with the four main math symbols, two with six sides for the numbers. When one would solve the equation, a subtraction or division would take away that many sweets from that player and gain that many twigs, with addition or multiplication, they would gain sweets and subtract twigs. Each player would start off with fifty pieces of sweets and fifty twigs. Once a player has only twigs, it was game over for that player.

Other games were played, of course. The Marcroo tended to have eating and running contests. By evening, things got serious – the Sarachoo practiced out timing to release the large wooden spear traps and familiarized themselves with the areas that the spears were buried; this way, they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire as easily.

During the Sarachoo feast, a Crimp spy, merely a youngling, had landed outside of the village and witnessed the celebration. _Have they forgotten about the Feast? Have they last track of time? _His small stature made it effortless to stay out of sight. _No matter, they are fattening themselves up for tonight – in the end. _The youngling slithered his frail looking body into the forest and soon found his way out of the canopy and into the sky, heading back to Farroon Marock to report what he had seen.

"The Feast shall fill our tummies well, Lord Cyfro," the youngling landed next to his alpha, who was perched on his usual spot atop the mountain.

Cyfro didn't respond, though his stomach gave a pleased reaction of rumbling. The youngling was only as large as his Lord's foot, which he perched next to, gripping the rocks like a desperate predator. A Crimp's scales were slick and hard to detect by the naked eye. This effect allowed the black texture to glisten in the sun – not beautifully – menacingly. It was dangerous for a Crimp to sit out in the sun, however; their bodies would overheat. Cyfro didn't mind, though – he was far more interested in finally experiencing the Feast.

The youngling leaped and glided into a cavern below, leaving his Lord to himself.

As agreed, Freero left the village behind after saying his goodbyes; it was filled with hopeful smiles, but hope isn't always one to trust. The green Contle spread his wings and lunged toward a clearing, soon taking off as a powerful gust of wind blew against him and lifted his equine body. He didn't say where he was going, and he didn't tell Honesah why he was leaving – Freero didn't want to meet up with her until she had gotten much older. Doing this would allow her to teach herself her own strength, which would make her far stronger than someone always training her. There was a plan in mind, however, and Freero was determined to protect not only his sister, but the village as well.

A few hundred miles from the Sarachoo Village, Freero made it across the edge of the Deschanc Ka Blatru and soon reached a small human village, mostly vegetated by a few scattered trees from the forest and dry grass. The green Sarachoo landed in a small gathering of trees nearby and began his Forming back into Human, which only lasted a minute. Afterward, Freero strolled out and walked into the village, his tail neatly tucked away into his pants, his ears would be explained, if anyone asked. He searched the village, asking random people about different blacksmiths in the area and getting their opinions to find the best one. After about thirty minutes of questioning, he decided on the smith he wanted - a large man, standing nearly two feet taller than Freero, which equaled to about six feet, and a complexion of a gruff type. His hands and face were tainted black by all of the smoke an coal he worked with. The man didn't have a beard, but a mustache that reached around his top lip and curled inward. His hair was brown, curly, and reached below his ears; more than likely, he was unable to grow it any longer than that.

"What business do you have, boy?" The smith greeted Freero, though it wasn't as welcoming as the Sarachoo had hoped.

Even with the unwelcoming tone, Freero answered, "I have come here searching for a sword, one that can slice through any opponent."

A faint smile curled on the man's lips, "Well, then, my boy, you've come to the right place! My name is Jebec. My wife, Senica, is somewhere inside the house. Now tell me," he looked around his workshop. "What style of sword are you looking for? Heavyweight, lightweight, short, long; I can make you any sword you'd like."

Freero thought carefully; he would need a sturdy sword - one that would be able to handle much damage, and plenty of length to keep away from the blood. "Heavyweight, longsword. And," he paused in a pleased set of thoughts, "add a slight curve to the blade. Maybe a vine design on the hilt?"

"Ah, it sounds like a fine sword. I'll have it done in two days."

"Ten hours."

"T-ten hours?" Jebec was appalled. It took quite a while to craft a sword, and when other orders were to be made, it would take even longer.

"I need it by tonight. It is a very serious matter." Freero tossed a small clothed bag to the blacksmith. It was green and gold trimmed, and jingled with the sense of a full belly. "This is all I have. I will not need money where I am going."

Jebec pulled the drawstring, untying its lacy form, and poured the coins into his other hand, some of the gold forms dripping out of his hand and onto the ground. "All of this gold? Where did you...?" He stopped himself, studying Freero's forehead and ears, his green hair and kind orange eyes, then realized just who he was dealing with. "A Sarachoo."

"You have heard about us," Freero smirked.

"Only a Sarachoo could have so much gold and toss it around so freely." The man put the gold in his hand back into the bag - he would pick up the ones in the ground later. "Come," he ushered the green Sarachoo toward the door behind him, which lead to the inside of his home, "we'll finish this discussion inside."

At this point, Freero was able to meet Senica; she wasn't thin or fit, but she wasn't obese either - a healthy figure, with a pretty face framed by straight, shoulder length, light brown hair. Tea was served, a warm, soothing flavored tea, which worked perfectly against the winter chill. Freero studied the living room area: three chairs, a large bookshelf filled with books, and a few wall decorations here and there. The couple's home was simple and welcoming.

"I know a lot about your kind," Jebec began the more serious discussion, "I do a lot of hearing from customers about creatures they've fought and come across. Only a handful have ever seen strays of the Sarachoo."

Freero nodded, "We seldom leave the village."

"Is it finally that time again," Senica questioned, "the time of the Feast?"

Again, he nodded, "So you have learned this much."

"Why didn't you have your own blacksmith forge a sword for you?" Jebec eyed Freero curiously. Surely the Sarachoo forged metals.

"They do not know I am fighting. It was – a last decision." Freero looked down to the wooden floor; it was worn and old, but sturdy and soft to the eyes – a deep brown color, polished when the house was first built.

"It'll be another hour before my furnace is heated again, so we have time to chit-chat," Jebec said, reclining back in his makeshift chair.

Freero took his seat in one across from Jebec and nodded as he was handed his tea. The sweet smell was welcoming and soothing. "So you will have it ready within ten hours?"

"Eight hours."

"But you were stressing over the ten hours just outside."

"I only did that because I'm already overwhelmed with orders as it is." The blacksmith paused, sipped his tea, and continued, "However, considering the circumstances – and the pay – I'll make your request first on my list – decorations and all."

Hope filled Freero's heart just as the tea filled his body with warmth. He would be able to fight against the Crimps with his people and ensure his sister's safety – more importantly, everyone's safety as well. "I will make your name valuable under the Sarachoo village."

Jebec laughed and looked at his wife, "Do you hear that, Senica? The docile Sarachoo will honor our names!"

"What are you implying," Freero arched a brow.

"Nothing, my boy," he chuckled. "I take it quite seriously, but your people aren't known to fight very often – you tend to remain in hiding."

"That does not mean we do not practice with them."

An inspiring love-child between a smirk and a devilish grin molded onto the blacksmith's face. They continued to talk and entertain each other with questions about their lifestyles and backgrounds, their foods and family, passing the hour by rather quickly until it was time to get to work.

Jebec pounded on the long steel pole that was glowing red with near melting heat. He flattened and shaped the edges, heating and cooling as many times as the process required. The sword reached about four feet long from base to tip. While he formed the blade, Senica was making the decorative attachments that she would soon put on the hilt. She heated and cooled the hilt as needed, etching leaves, vines, and berries into the steel and attaching the cross-guard, which took the form of further vines that curled and twisted in the fashion that wouldn't harm the handler. There was so much detail and effort put into the sword, one would swear they had spent days creating it. Jebec had finally sharpened the blade to a spectacular glimmer and matched a sheath out of the large selection he had made during his free time.

"It is beautiful," Freero balanced the sword in his hands and gazed at its wonder. "Truly a sword made by absolute masters." He thanked the couple and was soon on his way back to the village. There, he would wait near the edge of the forest until the Crimps appeared, and strike with his people.

To pass the time, the Sarachoo continued in their leisurely activities, trying not to think about the terror that would soon follow by midnight.

Honesah and Allo sat by the frozen lake in their Natural Forms, its icy surface already starting to heal itself itself from melting during the daylight. They didn't talk much, unsure of how to be happy when almost sure death was on its way.

"Maybe we should escape, too," Allo suggested. "We could get out of here together and find Freero."

"But father said that I must stay here and witness the Feast," Honesah said. "He did not tell me why, but it will be useful to me in the future." She tapped the thin ice that crept up the bank with her fore hoof, "I am suppose to escape at some point, but I have to be here to know that it really did happen."

With a nod and a smile, Allo accepted this and answered, "Then we will escape during the Feast – both of us. And then we will find Freero and help him become the Savior."

Honesah stretched out her wings and shook her gold and sapphire mane. "Then let us make a promise to stay alive – to stay together forever and always be there to protect each other."

Without a word, Allo bent his equine head and shoved his horn deep into the snow and earth; he tilted his head, bending the curled yellow horn until it snapped into two about half its length down. "I want you to keep this with you, in case we are ever separated." Allo lifted the horn piece with his mouth and offered it to Honesah; she took it without question and Formed back to Human, placing the horn into her pants pocket.

"I will make a necklace out of it as soon as I can," Honesah smiled. She didn't know why Allo wanted her to keep it, but she adored and trusted him fully – it wasn't as if the horn would protect her or something. As much as Honesah would like to admit it, she couldn't – but she more than adored Allo – she loved him. They were so young, yet she couldn't help herself from feeling this way. Sometimes, Honesah wondered if Allo had similar feelings – or were they just mere friends to him? Time would tell, however, because age tended to lie on the subject of romance.

That night, the Sarachoo village laid silently in wait; they crouched behind every trap-trigger, the Cotlies hid in an underground chamber – all except Allo and Honesah. The two were hiding with Bremeg and Crooton; Allo's mother had agreed to let Allo stay with Honesah after being told their escape plan. It would be sad to die alone and not be with her son in the most frightening of times, but she knew that she would see him again once the Savior restored the village.

Almost every Marcroo had a trigger; those who didn't were assigned as scouts to signal for when they saw the Crimps on their way. Clouds were quickly building in the sky, blocking out the bright and twinkling stars as they darkened to the color of the night. There was no rain, no lightning, only wind – strong gusts of wind. Bremeg looked up to the clouds and searched for the glow of the moon, barely able to see it – but he did. "Midnight," he said.

At that very moment, a piercing cry broke the rushing winds' woos and dramatically ended with a low, rumbling, unnatural tone. With this battle cry, the Sarachoo's ears began to bleed from the high-pitched scream, then shook from the vibrato of the rumbling tone. Bremeg waited for the scouts' signals – torched cloth balls slung in the air. He knew it wasn't yet time – not until the third cry. Silence returned to their ears, accompanied by the winds. It wasn't long until the second cry resounded, causing the Sarachoo to fall to their knees and emotions break from the tremendous pain ringing in their heads. Silence returned and remained for a good five minutes.

Their red eyes formed in the night's blanket, glowing with menacing hunger. The scouts lit their torch balls and slung them high into the air from their tree perches. As the fireballs rose into the air, the Crimps increased their flight speed and snatched the torches one by one, swallowing the fires into their dark bodies. The third and last cry rang out, and immediately after, fire so hot that it was black, burst from the lungs of the carnivorous Crimps. They landed, ready to begin the Feast, but realized that there hadn't been any screams at all – not even a tiny stir. Cyfro was far too large to sit in the village with everyone else, so he hovered about – his powerful wings adding to the strength of the wind. "Burn everything down," he commanded. "If they aren't here when we're finished, search the forest!"

Another torch ball shot into the air; before the Crimps could react, they were scoured by many large spears that burst from the ground below them. Those with direct hits died immediately, but there were still Crimps who were unscathed. Out of sheer anger, the Crimps still alive began to breathe their dominating fire and whip their tails over the buildings, easily obliterating them, as they cried, "It's a trap! A trap!" Their destruction frightening the Sarachoo out of hiding – the Feast began.

By the mere glance of a Sarachoo, the Crimps were instinctively triggered to snap out and attempt to devour the pure mystical beings. With most of the Crimps killed off, the Sarachoo had a better chance to fight – which they did; Bremeg ordered his people to take up arms, or rather, horns. All Sarachoo were in Natural Form, dashing and swooping under the Crimps to pierce their bellies as many times as it would take until the Black Dragons bled to death. There was only one problem – once a Crimp's blood is exposed to oxygen, it immediately turns into a powerful acid. The ground was boiling as it was being digested, forcing the Sarachoo to remain in flight.

Within the chamber where the Cotlies were hidden, there was certain death. The young Sarachoo huddled against the furthest wall, watching a red liquid begin to drip from the ceiling door. It only took a few seconds for that drip to turn into a stream, then a thick pour, and finally, the door gave way and swallowed the Cotlies before they could even scream.

"Come on, Honesah," Allo called over his shoulder to his Princess, both of their wings flapping as strongly as possible. "They dodged the oncoming Crimp tails and bursts of flames, barely escaping many. So close to the edge of the village – once they reached the tree line, they could disappear into the snow and vegetation. Allo made an easily avoidable mistake, however; he looked behind himself again, not hearing a response from Honesah – she was crying.

It was the last thing he would remember about her – about anything. Honesah, though, would remember the _chomp_ and _crunch, crunch_ of her dearly beloved, watching as his body was so easily devoured by the Crimp. Once it had swallowed, the Crimp sneered and eyed Honesah's frightened, saddened, and almost frozen body, "So they were right – Sarachoo are _far_ sweeter than sheep!"

Her brain told her to escape, but her wings wouldn't do more than allow her to hover. Honesah's wide pink eyes glistened and ran with tears. As the Crimp reared its head back to strike, her senses returned, and Honesah managed to dodge the razor sharp teeth within mere inches. She dove down into the tree line, quickly blending into the thick white snow. The Sarachoo Princess flew and flew as fast as she could, brushing against merciless branches from the many pine trees. Finding a fair branch to rest on, Honesah changed to Human Form, barely able to allow the process to go through – hopefully, the Crimps wouldn't recognize her this way; and, she hoped, the pine would be a cover for her scent.

The pain of losing young love was even more excruciating then what her body was feeling. Honesah reached into her red pants' pocket and pulled out the horn tip from Allo.

_Then we will escape during the Feast – both of us._

His cheerful suggestion echoed within her mind, bringing up the questions of why Fate would be so cruel to ruin their plan; why did love hurt so much; why should such an innocent romance be broken? She leaned herself back, relaxing against the tree trunk as she sat up on the thick branch. Feeling dizzy, the Cotly decided it would be acceptable for a short nap and closed her emotionally swollen eyes. The las three things she remembered were the crunching of her body falling deep into the snow, the pain of something sharp sinking into the center of her chest, and a boy proclaiming, "That's not what I shot at."

* * *

**_Yay! But, le gasp, what is this? I'm not posting any further chapters? D8 Why not? Well, I plan to publish this book in the near future and allowing people to download the entire thing on here would just be too easy. You have to see the cover and its beauty, too! lol Sorry, I'm not trying to be greedy, but publishing the book is the only way to actually get it out there. XD  
Thank you, everone for reading and replying! I greatly appreciate it! Please be on the lookout for the official release of "Once Upon a Cloud"!_**


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